The first thing Jason registered was the warmth. Not just the Kansas sun streaming through the window, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets, but the living, breathing warmth of the woman nestled against him. Martha Kent was still asleep, her back to him, the sheet pooled around her waist. The morning light caressed the elegant slope of her spine, the generous swell of her hips, and the magnificent, full curves of her bare ass. It was a landscape of soft, mature flesh, a testament to a life well-lived, and to him, it was the most potent sight in the world.
His cock, already stiff with morning need, twitched against the small of her back. The memories of the night—her screams, the feel of her climaxing around him, the sheer taboo of it all—flooded his system like a drug. He was hard as Kryptonian steel in an instant.
He didn't wake her. Instead, he moved with a predator's silence, shifting up onto his knees behind her. He took his length in hand, stroking himself slowly as he admired the view. The twin mounds of her ass were parted just so, a dark, tempting valley between them. He leaned forward, pressing the swollen head of his cock against the cleft, not entering, just sliding it up and down the smooth, warm skin.
A low groan rumbled in his chest. "Mmmph... Grandma," he whispered, the word a filthy prayer.
He increased the pace, his hips pistoning gently, his shaft gliding through the tight, warm channel of her ass cheeks. The friction was exquisite, the visual of his pale, rigid flesh moving against her tanned skin utterly depraved. He could feel his orgasm building, a tight, hot coil in his gut. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps.
"Gonna mark you," he grunted, his voice thick with sleep and lust. "Gonna paint this perfect ass."
With a final, shuddering thrust that buried his length between her cheeks, he let go. A hot, thick rope of cum shot out, splattering across the small of her back. Another followed, and another, painting white streaks across her sun-kissed skin. He groaned, long and low, as he emptied himself onto her, his body trembling with the force of his release.
The sensation, warm and wet, finally stirred Martha. She murmured something incoherent, shifting in her sleep, before her eyes fluttered open. She twisted her head, her gaze sleepy and confused until it landed on him, still kneeling over her, and then she felt the sticky warmth on her back. A deep blush spread from her cheeks down to her chest, a mixture of shock and a lingering, undeniable thrill.
"Jason... oh, my..." she breathed, but she didn't pull away.
He just smirked, leaning down to kiss her shoulder. "Good morning."
An hour later, the farmhouse kitchen was filled with the sizzle of bacon and the rich aroma of coffee. Martha, now showered and dressed in a simple, floral-print dress, moved between the stove and the counter. But she wasn't alone. Jason was her shadow, his hands a constant, possessive presence on her body. As she flipped the pancakes, his palms slid over her hips, squeezing the flesh he had worshipped all night. When she reached for the maple syrup, he pressed against her from behind, his already-recovered hardness nudging against her ass, his lips nuzzling the sensitive spot behind her ear.
"Martha..." he murmured, his voice a low vibration against her neck. "I can still smell us on you. Even after your shower."
She shivered, leaning back into him for a moment, her resolve melting under his relentless attention. "Jason, the breakfast..."
"To hell with breakfast," he whispered, one hand sliding around to cup her breast through the cotton of her dress, his thumb circling her nipple until it pebbled into a hard point. "I'm hungry for something else."
It was at that exact moment, with his hand groping his grandmother's breast and his erection pressed firmly against her backside, that the front door swung open.
A voice, powerful and resonant, filled the house, cutting through the domestic scene like a clarion call. "Martha? Where is my dear grandson? Themyscira calls for a glimpse of its future king!"
Both of them froze.
Standing in the doorway was a vision of timeless, regal beauty. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. She was taller than Martha, her posture ramrod straight, her hair a cascade of dark waves adorned with a simple gold circlet. She wore functional, yet elegant, Amazonian armor that hugged a figure of godly perfection—powerful shoulders, a narrow waist, and hips that curved with the promise of immense, untapped strength. Her eyes, the same piercing blue as her daughter Diana's, swept the room, taking in the cozy kitchen, the cooking food, and then… her gaze landed on her grandson and Martha Kent.
Her expression shifted from warm anticipation to frozen, uncomprehending shock. Her eyes tracked the intimate tableau: Jason's possessive stance, his hand still cupping Martha's breast, the way Martha's body was molded against his. The air in the room grew thick and heavy, charged with the weight of a shattered reality.
Hippolyta's face, a mask of carved marble, began to show cracks of disbelief and dawning horror. "What… what is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet timbre. "Jason? Martha? Explain this… this sacrilege."
Martha gasped, trying to pull away, her face a mask of pure panic and shame. "Hippolyta! I can—"
But Jason didn't let her move. His grip on her tightened. He didn't look ashamed or scared. A slow, clever smile spread across his face. He met his grandmother's furious gaze head-on, his own eyes gleaming with a perverse pride and unchallenged dominance.
"Explain?" Jason said, his voice calm and unnervingly steady. "It's simple, Grandmother." He emphasized the word, just as he had with Martha, making it a title of ownership. "I'm claiming what's mine. All of it. Martha has been mine for a while now. She's been… very accommodating."
Hippolyta stared, her mind seemingly unable to process such blunt, brazen confession. "She is your grandfather's wife! She helped raise you! This is an abomination!"
"Is it?" Jason challenged, his hand finally leaving Martha's breast to gesture vaguely around them. "Where is my grandfather? Dust. Where is my father? Gone. They left. They left *her*. And they left *me*. But I'm not like them. I don't leave. I take. I see something beautiful, something powerful, something I desire… and I make it mine."
He took a step forward, subtly pushing Martha behind him, placing himself squarely between the two women. His presence seemed to expand, filling the kitchen with raw, latent power.
"You speak of Themyscira, of me being its future king," Jason continued, his eyes locked on Hippolyta. "But a king takes what he wants. He doesn't ask for permission. I wanted Martha. And I have her. Now I look at you, Grandmother…" His gaze raked over her, from the regal crown to the armored greaves, lingering on the powerful curve of her thighs and the proud swell of her chest. "...and I see another beautiful, powerful thing I desire. A queen who has known centuries without a consort. Don't you feel lonely on that island of yours? Don't you crave a strength that can match your own?"
Hippolyta was speechless. The anger was still there, a fire in her eyes, but it was now banked by something else… a flicker of stunned intrigue. No one, in all her millennia of life, had ever spoken to her like this. With such disrespect, such raw, unadulterated lust, and yet… with such undeniable, kingly authority. He wasn't a boy. He was a force of nature.
Jason saw the shift. He pressed his advantage. "You came here for your grandson. Well, here I am. But I don't come as a supplicant. I come as a conqueror. You can storm out of here in righteous fury, or…" He took another step closer, now just an arm's length away. His voice dropped to a seductive, intimate whisper. "...you can take me to your island. You can show me my future kingdom. And you can have a king who will not just rule by your side, but will *claim* you, as I have claimed Martha. A king who will worship the goddess in you by fucking you like the mortal woman you secretly yearn to be again."
The silence in the kitchen was absolute. Martha stood trembling by the counter, watching the exchange with wide, terrified eyes. Hippolyta's chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. The conflict on her face was a war of ages—duty against desire, tradition against this terrifying, thrilling new possibility.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hippolyta spoke, her voice husky, stripped of its royal command and filled with a raw, ancient hunger she had long forgotten.
"You are a demon," she whispered, but there was no heat in the words. Only awe.
"I'm your blood," Jason corrected, his smile turning triumphant.
Hippolyta's eyes burned with a new, fierce light. She looked from Jason to the cowering Martha, and a strange, understanding passed between the two women—an acknowledgment of the irresistible power this boy wielded.
"Then come, demon," Hippolyta said, her voice regaining its steel, but now laced with a predatory edge. "Come to Themyscira. Show me what it means to be claimed by the son of a god."
In a flash of brilliant, shimmering gold light, the kitchen vanished.
***
The world dissolved and reformed in an instant. The scent of bacon and coffee was replaced by the salt-kissed air of the ocean and the rich, earthy perfume of exotic flowers. Jason stumbled for a half-second, his senses overwhelmed. They stood on a wide marble veranda overlooking a breathtaking vista. Azure waters crashed against towering cliffs below. In the distance, gleaming white structures—temples, palaces, training grounds—nestled amidst lush, verdant jungle. This was Themyscira. Paradise Island.
Hippolyta released his arm, turning to face him. The Kansas sun was gone, replaced by the harsher, more brilliant light of this hidden world. It gleamed off her armor and lit a fire in her eyes.
"So," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "This is your kingdom-to-be. Do you still believe you are worthy to take it? To take… me?"
Jason didn't answer with words. He closed the distance between them in a single, fluid step. His hands, those world-breaking hands, came up to frame her face. He saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes—no one touched the Queen without invitation. He didn't care. He crushed his lips to hers.
It wasn't a kiss of love or tenderness. It was a kiss of conquest. Hard, demanding, and bruising. He poured all his reincarnated lust, his Kryptonian-hybrid dominance, his utter lack of inhibition into it. For a moment, she was rigid, unyielding stone. Then, with a shuddering gasp that he swallowed, her lips parted. Her own hands came up, not to push him away, but to clutch at the hard muscle of his biceps, her fingers digging in. A low, guttural moan escaped her throat, a sound of surrender that had been trapped for centuries.
When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily. A thin strand of saliva connected their lips for a second before snapping.
"I'm not here to be worthy," Jason breathed, his forehead resting against hers. "I'm here to possess. Now show me your chambers. I want to see the bed where I'll defile a queen."
Hippolyta's composure was in tatters. The regal mask was gone, replaced by the flushed, desperate face of a woman consumed by a long-denied need. She grabbed his hand, her grip like iron, and pulled him from the veranda, through corridors of flowing silks and polished marble, past startled Amazons who bowed quickly, their eyes wide with confusion at the sight of their Queen dragging a young man with feverish intent.
She all but kicked open the doors to her private chambers—a vast, airy room with a ceiling open to the sky, dominated by a massive bed piled high with furs and silks of deep crimson and gold.
She turned to him, her chest heaving, her eyes wild. "Then possess, grandson. Show this old queen what she has been missing."
Jason didn't need a second invitation. He was on her in a blur of motion. His hands went to the clasps of her armor, not fumbling, but tearing them apart with casual, superhuman strength. The bronze cuirass clattered to the floor. The greaves and vambraces followed. Soon, she stood before him in only a thin, white linen under-tunic. He could see the powerful outline of her body, the dark shadow of her nipples, the strong column of her thighs.
He ripped the tunic down the middle.
Hippolyta stood naked before him, and the sight stole the breath from his lungs. She was… monumental. Her body was a masterpiece of warrior-athleticism and ageless feminine grace. Her breasts were full and high, tipped with large, dark areolas. Her stomach was flat and ridged with muscle, leading down to a thatch of dark, curly hair between legs that were pillars of pure, sculpted power. Centuries of battle and rule had crafted a form that was both intimidating and utterly, devastatingly erotic.
"By the gods," Jason whispered, his cock straining painfully against his jeans.
He shed his own clothes in seconds, his fully erect, thick length springing free. Hippolyta's eyes widened at the sight, a flicker of primal fear and intense arousal crossing her face.
He pushed her back onto the enormous bed, the silks and furs swallowing her form. He didn't bother with foreplay. He climbed over her, spreading her powerful thighs with his knees. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her warmth. She was already wet, her body betraying her mind's last vestiges of resistance.
"Look at me, Grandmother," he commanded.
Her blue eyes, clouded with lust, locked onto his.
"This is what you wanted," he growled. "This is what you needed. To be reminded that you're not just a queen. You're a woman."
And with that, he drove into her in one single, brutal, deep thrust.
"AAAAIIEEEEEE!" Hippolyta's scream was not one of pain, but of shocking, overwhelming sensation. Her back arched off the bed, her nails scoring red lines across his back. Her inner walls, untouched for lifetimes, clenched around him like a fist, impossibly tight and searingly hot.
Jason groaned, a sound of pure, animal triumph. He began to move, setting a punishing, rhythmic pace that made the massive bed frame creak and groan. Each thrust was a claim, a branding. He fucked her with the same dominant force he had used on Martha, but this was different. This was a conquest of mythic proportions. He was taking a goddess.
"Yes! YES!" Hippolyta chanted, her regal voice broken into ragged cries. Her legs, strong enough to crush rock, wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, forcing him into her very core. "Harder! By Hera, do not hold back, boy!"
He obliged. His hips became a blur, the wet, slapping sounds of their union echoing through the chamber. He leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting until she screamed again, her hands tangling in his hair, holding him there.
"I'm… I'm going to…!" she cried out, her body beginning to tremble violently beneath him.
"Come for me, my Queen," he snarled against her breast. "Come all over your king's cock."
The command, issued in the midst of her peak, shattered her completely. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, let out a wail that seemed to shake the very foundations of the palace. Her body convulsed, a series of violent, uncontrollable spasms that milked his cock with devastating force. The feeling was too much. With a final, deep roar, Jason buried himself to the hilt and erupted inside her, pumping jet after hot jet of his seed deep into her ancient, welcoming womb.
He collapsed on top of her, their sweat-slicked bodies sticking together. The room was silent except for their ragged, gasping breaths. Themyscira's sun beat down on them through the open ceiling.
After a long while, Hippolyta stirred. Her hand, surprisingly gentle, came up to stroke his damp hair. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. The way her body still clung to his, the possessive curve of her arm around his back, said everything.
Jason lifted his head, a slow, supremely satisfied smile spreading across his face. He had conquered the Queen. He had claimed his kingdom. And as he looked down at the powerful, beautiful woman beneath him, her eyes hazy with satiation, he knew this was only the beginning. Paradise Island had just found its new, very demanding, and deeply perverted ruler. And he had a whole island of legendary MILFs to acquaint himself with.